User:Tfo/Snuffer1

From Encyclopedia Dramatica

Subject:
        SNUFF: The Snuffer, 1/2 (m/t, tort, snuff)
   Date:
        Tue, 13 Oct 1998 04:14:14 PDT
   From:
        "Slavonic K" <slavo...@hotmail.com>
     To:
        moderated.stor...@bigfoot.com

WARNING! This story contains detailed descriptions of very cruel
tortures and murder of a teenage victim. I insistently recommend you
reading it ONLY if you are really interested in the things like that. I
am not going to accept any complaints or disapproval from those who
might be squicked with it but who read it nevertheless.

THE SNUFFER, 1/2

I am going to snuff you.

I didn't tell that aloud. Even without these words his eyes staring at
me were full of terror. For a short moment there was hope flickering in
them - and then, when I just slid my glance over him and walked in, he
understood that there was no chance.  He was a smart kid.

He sat on the floor in the corner of the empty room, with his ankles
roped together and his arms tied behind his back tightly and cruelly -
by his wrists and his elbows, so, that his shoulders looked twisted
forward unnaturally and his chest bulged. He was gagged - I saw his
distorted lips were dry and bruised; it made his face seem older.

Well, he was no more than sixteen - I knew it despite his so very tired
expression (he had a sleepless night and the most possible he didn't
manage to rest by day) and despite his eye-sockets black with smeared
mascara. And he was handsome - not sweet - but with a subtle expressive
face you are going to remember.

One of my customers picked him last night in the street and brought to
the house. He caught the little hooker when he tried to snatch an
expensive bagatelle from the hall. He gut-punched the kid and called his
friends. They raped him all the night, as refined as they could - and
when their fantasy ran short they decided to call me.

I don't know whether he would finish like this anyway, even if he didn't
try to rob the host. And, actually, it didn't matter now.

There was no much left of his clothes. I saw his leather straight jacket
on the floor at his feet - but there was no possibility for him to cover
himself with it though he had to be cold. The room was in the basement
and even I felt like huddling myself up. I didn't have any sight of his
skirt - and his black narrow corselet of mat textile crumbled around his
waist. One of his fine stockings slithered down to his foot, the other
was laddered irreparably. The funny thing was that through all their
entertainment they didn't take off his sandals - blinding golden things
on 5" stiletto heels. They were laced around his ankles and didn't fall
down themselves. He had to have a hell of time, having them on his feet
for so long.

"Hi pretty," I said coming up to him and squatting. I smiled. I reached
my hand to his face - and thanks to my voice or to my expression he
didn't back from me. Not that there was any space for him to back. I
found the fastening of his gag and released it. "What is your name?"

There were some moments when he couldn't speak. He tried but he
couldn't. His mouth was too dehydrated after the hours with the rubber
ball in it, his jaw probably strained painfully and his throat
disobedient. When he did tell it - it sounded like a hiss of air going
out of his lungs. Josh - or Joe - I didn't understand.

"No little one," I corrected him softly. "Your name how you call
yourself in this garment."

"Mary Beth," he said.

I liked it. It was a nice name - and it sounded new for me.

I put my hand around his face. His skin was pale and by touch very
smooth - girl-like; he didn't have to shave yet. I stroked his
cheek-bone with my thumb slightly. His eyes were turned to me - huge
dark-brown eyes, very beautiful. His gaze was mesmerized; he didn't know
what to wait from me.

"I think you have to take a shower first," I said untying his feet. Oh
yeah he did need it. He stank. With his own sweat and with sweat of
those who had him last night and with their cum. His lovely black hair -
a kind of rippled, not really wavy - was icicle-like with it - and some
of it was sticky even on his lashes.

Mary Beth didn't ask me anything - although I saw his eyes were still
puzzled, even more puzzled than before probably. His discolored lips
worked a little, as if he hoped to find some saliva in his parched
mouth.

Don't worry dear, soon you'll have more water than you will want.

I tugged the thin belts of his sandals next. He really had to feel
uncomfortable - I could sense how puffy were his feet, with the laces
stuck deeply into his skin. I rolled down the stockings and took them
off, too.

"Come on, get up."

When I pulled him on his feet I had to take all his weight myself. I
didn't wonder - I would wonder if he were not cramped after eighteen
hours in this position. And he was not heavy at all. A head shorter than
me and bony. His garter belt hanged on his pelvic bones. I unbuttoned it
and his twisted corselet with a shade of squeamishness and dropped them
on the floor.

He had cum and blood crusted on his legs and on his chest.

You know my wife thinks a prostitute can't be raped. She means
everything what is done to a prostitute is just a part of his/her
profession. Well, I was going to continue to call rape what was done to
the kid the night before. I couldn't call it in any other way when they
fucked him until he started bleeding and pinched or bit his nipples till
splitting them. They beat him, too. I saw these purple stains of bruises
on his belly and rib-cage. And I saw his misused genitals.

I had one of my arms around him when I turned him and reached for his
hands. He almost lay on my elbow like that and I knew my jacket's sleeve
could be rough against his tender injured tits. His skin was so very
white that every trace on it seemed extremely visible - was it the
soreness on his wrists from the rope or more bruises in his kidney area.
He was going to piss blood, I thought.

"Yeah Mary Beth, yeah girl," I whispered to his ear when gently shaking
him upright. "Let's go."

There was the door to the bathroom from this room. I don't remember how
many times I was there; more than a couple of times, anyway. And it was
not always this house. I turned the light on and helped Mary Beth to
come in.

The bathroom could look old and void of conveniences but one thing I
knew for sure - it was scrupulously clean. And I didn't need anything
else but the tub and the shower; I brought my things with myself.

"Don't be so tense," I recommended when easing the cross-dresser's frail
body to the tub. The water ran from the faucet and drained down to the
hole with the pleasant purling. Mary Beth sat a kind of lopsidedly,
partly on his ass, partly on his thigh, with his arms wrapped around his
knees and his face was turned to me all the time, while I made the
temperature of water appropriate and took the shower from the hook. The
wings of his narrow straight nose were fluttering. He was in pain, I
knew it. His limbs had to get dead stiff by the time I came - and now
blood was returning to them. He will have more of it when they get
warmed with the water. But there was not only pain in his eyes, even
though for last twenty four hours he learned more of it then probably
ever - and will learn more too soon.

"Wanna drink?" I filled my palms with water and brought it to his face.
His hands were of no use now. He clang with his mouth to it -
swallowing, gulping greedily, his lips soft and warm on my skin. I gave
him more - why not? It meant nothing on the long run of this night.

When he finished and looked at me again the worried questioning
expression in his eyes became even more visible.

"Will…" he licked his lips once more, as if delaying with the moment
when he would get to know inevitable - and still he was not able to
refrain from this question, of course. "Will I be allowed to go… soon?"

During all this time I asked myself on and on what was better, what was
more correct - to tell them the truth and watch how they go mute, unable
to accept it at the first second, and then become hysterics? Or to lie -
to be mild with them as I tried to be mild with them in everything else?
And I only half-lied, you see.

"A little more of sex pleasures from you sweet toy," I murmured under my
breath. I ran the shower over Mary Beth, seeing with satisfaction how
the layers of sperm melted and disappeared from his skin. His wet hair
looked funny, sticking to his skull. "You can stand it, can't you?"

It was what he was doing for living - stand sex. I looked at his lashes
flopping up and down under the streams of water. It took several moments
before he raised his eyes to me again and said:

"Yeah, sure."

"That's the girl," I smiled approvingly. "Nah, no girls tonight." I held
some water and washed his face with my palm pressing it firmly to clean
the residuals of his barbaric make-up. "Now you are a good boy, aren't
you?"

There was no mirror for him to check it - but my eyes were his mirror.
It was strange how quickly they all start looking at me in the search of
answers. But it was right; I had to become his last answer.

"Spread your legs," I asked him, "I have to wash your basket."

He did it with hesitation. I didn't touch him - just the flow of warm
water on his visibly swollen balls and bruised cock. He was
uncircumcised and his pubic hair was the same black and fluffy as his
head hair.

"Now stand on your fours."

He watched me when I was filling the enema bag. There was no fear in his
eyes - I guess he used to do it to himself. And it was just a usual
enema, nothing more.

"Are you Spanish?" I asked it conversationally while looking at him
standing in this funny pose in the tub. He did look attractive and
vulnerable - with his narrow back and slim hairless limbs, with this
small ass stuck up. I asked because he had so pale skin and so dark,
almost raven hair.

"I am half-Italian," he answered looking to my face.

"That's nice." I didn't mean it was nice that he was half-Italian, it
related to his smooth tender crack I reached to now. His anus looked
soft and bright, a bit raw after the previous night but whole in any
case. A sweet and neat anus, almost as neat as if no thick dicks ever
split it open. But when I probed it with my finger the muscles relaxed
readily letting me in.

"For how long do you take cocks up there?" I asked. I felt the sphincter
around my finger clamping a little.

"For three years."

"Do you like it?"

"No… I mean… No."

His glance was wary - as if he feared he could say something I wouldn't
like. I continued to look at him with the same gentle expression,
rotating my finger inside him. Then I took it out and pushed the hose of
the enema in.

"Do you like doing it with your mouth better?" I spoke to him while the
water was leaking into his guts.

"Yep."

"Then you'll do it with your mouth for me, won't you?"

There was a tiny pause before he answered:

"Yes. Yes, I'll do."

I could take whatever I want without asking him. But at the same time it
was not what I come here for. That's why I always asked. They never
refused. I even didn't have to say: "I will be kinder to you then," -
because it would be a lie anyway.

"And do you like girl's clothing?"

If I was bringing any discomfort to him with the enema his face didn't
reveal it.

"I guess…" I saw him biting his lip and wincing slightly with the pain
of a split on it. "I guess I do. In any case - if I play a girl I should
dress like one."

"Are these your words?"

He shrugged.

"Who was your first lover?"

"My father."

"Is he your souteneur?"

"No. He died."

"And who is?"

"Gabriele. He is just a pimp."

"Has many like you?"

"Some."

"You don't use drugs?" When hoisting him I didn't notice the traces on
his arms.

"I… Just a little."

"What color was your skirt?"

"Golden leather."

"Did you have lipstick?"

"Yes."

"Red?"

"Yes."

For a moment I grinned imagining the vision of the young hustler in the
electric-light street - startling brightness of the narrow stripe of his
skirt, easy tapping of his high-heeled sandals, whiteness of his face
and the scarlet wound of his painted mouth on it.

"That's all," I said taking the hose out. The clamp was still shut,
however. "We'll wait ten minutes. And meanwhile…" I nodded a bit. "Stand
on your knees hon. Can you put the rubber with your mouth?"

He could. I let out my heavy organ and gave him the condom and in no
time at all his warm lips were enveloping it. He was a pro - I didn't
have to pull his head closer. In three or four attempts he let my cock
behind his gag reflex and then the movements of his head went smoothly
and sliding. His eyes were squinted shut - and I kept my own lids
half-mast.

I liked the sight. Mary Beth's dark head was bobbing over my crotch
while he kneeled obediently in the tub, his thin shoulders beaded with
the drops of water - and more water was splashing on the cloth of my
jeans. The whore looked so fragile in comparison with my own muscular
frame - child-like. He was a lot older than my children, however.

"Okay, okay, you are fine, you are great baby," I muttered when feeling
that my release was close. I saw a short flickering of his velvety eyes
when he looked up at me - and then my cock twisted and pulsed out in his
mouth. In the rubber, of course - but still it was a good sensation,
long and deep enough.

I flashed the thing to the toilet after that and turned to Mary Beth. It
was time for him to clean up, too - and it was time, really. I could
notice he didn't feel too good anymore with the filling inside him.

I repeated the procedure after he had voided his bowels - for a shorter
time, however. Then I looked at my watch and I knew we had to hurry.

"Aren't cold any more?"

He shook his head. I rubbed the towel over his light body gently and
over his hair with more pressure. He didn't have time to get it dry -
but it didn't matter much. I brushed him anyway - so that his locks
looked shiny and clean. Then I hastily changed my own clothes.

I was not the one who liked it! No, true, I would like to do my work in
my usual shirt and jeans; they didn't have to look at me during the
performance. But they wanted me to be impressive. They wanted as much
for their money as they could get. So, I stripped and squeezed myself
into the tightest black leather pants I could put on in any case. Well,
when I was in - yeah then I could agree I looked like something. Even if
a bit showy. With these scars and tattoos covering my chest and back.
The leather pants were the only thing I had to wear. And it was much,
taking into account that Mary Beth had nothing.

The kid stood facing me, with his arms limp along his body, not trying
to cover himself. Even without make-up his face was startling - with
these enormous eyes in the deep shadows of the sockets, with sable-like
brows and brightly outlined mouth that could be so very sensual if it
were not so beaten by now.

I could read his anxiety in his eyes turned to me. What did he think
looking at my bare chest, at the taut leather on me? He was afraid. But
not so much afraid as he could have been if he knew. And there was
something else in his eyes, something I hardly believed I saw - but I
had seen it before, too. There was dependence.

"Come with me Mary Beth," I said. "You have to come."

"What is your name?" he asked suddenly. I stumbled for a moment. Then I
said, I said the truth:

"Rodion."

"You won't leave me, Rodion?" he asked in a voice so small that I barely
could hear it. He repeated my name right.

"No Mary Beth," very swiftly I ran my fingers over his forehead. "You
can be sure. I'll be with you till the very end."

*  *  *

I knew where to look when I entered the place - and both my eyes and my
bare feet were used to it. I guided Mary Beth by his elbow. And looking
awry at his face I saw how his lashes fluttered when we were on the
scene.

Well, it was not a real scene, of course. Just a kind of support in
front of several arm-chairs. Six of them, exactly. Sometimes there were
fewer. Never more than six. The places were already taken.

I didn't look at the faces, didn't try to discern them - that was not so
difficult, even though the scene was lit and the audience shadowy. I
think Mary Beth could recognize them very well - he saw every one of
them yesterday night; there were others, their friends, too, then,
however.

"On," I whispered this word pushing the little slut forward slightly. He
stumbled. He looked back at me and I saw his lips starting verbalizing
one question:

"What…"

But then we were in the circle of light.

They didn't clap their palms; not in the begging, at least. By the end
of the night, when their spirits rose, they would be much more
outspoken. Now they only looked at us and even though I knew they saw me
times before and I used to it I still could feel the unpleasant palpable
quality of their stares. I dug my fingers deeper into Mary Beth's
shoulder.

"Close your eyes bird," I said. I didn't want screaming and thrashing to
start right now. Only when it will be too late.

As if it were not too late now.

His lids lay down obediently. He didn't see how I pushed the button and
the device lifted to the scene from under the floor. I walked him to it
and he still didn't look. Because I told him not to.

It was a cross. Not a kind of cross for the crucifixion but X-like, made
of solid wood and with the most durable cuffs on each edge of the
cross-bars. It was a rack. It could be put vertically or horizontally or
under any desirable angle. It stood upright now.

I led Mary Beth there. I watched his face askance - whether it would
distort when he felt the emanations coming from the thing. It was washed
clean and clear after every time, scrubbed and brushed and disinfected.
And still it had to be there, you know; it doesn't go anywhere. But the
transvestite slut was not the one who could sense it.

"Turn around," I said quietly, audibly only for him, not for the
audience. He did. He stood in a couple of inches from the instrument and
he didn't know it.

"Raise your hands and spread your arms," I ordered. He obeyed me even
before it struck his mind what implication this order could have. But
then it was too late. I seized his wrists in the shackles and locked
them.

"Hey!.." these gorgeous eyes, now wide with the sudden fear, opened at
once. He was fast in starting flailing - but I was faster. I glided down
to the floor and fixed his ankles in the same implacable manner his
wrists were held. "Let me… Let me go! Why…"

I stood up and looked at him. At that moment in Mary Beth there was no
more this weird charm of a rabbit hypnotized by a boa. He looked like
the most ordinary teen - naked and spread-limbed, twisting in the
manacles wildly. A pretty kid, surely - with his slender alabaster-like
body and dark patches of hair in his crotch and under his arms. But I
preferred him frozen and docile, to tell the truth. Well, I was going to
put him into that state again very soon.

His head was flopping up and down wildly and he babbled:

"Oh come on… what's that? Why that? What d'you wanna? It's… it's…"

I turned the lever behind the rack and the shackles pulled his hands up
sharply.

Actually, I made several turns at once - for he was not tall, really -
and when the cables pulled the cuffs they yanked Mary Beth up roughly.
He gasped. This short "Oh" made a break for the meaningless chatting. He
was standing on his tip-toes. I turned again and again - until his feet
left the ground completely. And then even more, pulling the cables of
the ankle shackles down. Yes, that's how it worked. Then the inevitable
happened and his body started being stretched in four different
directions.

"God…" it was an exhale, not really a word from Mary Beth. I looked at
him. He hanged by his hands now - and the shackles on his ankles pulled
him down, already painfully. Then I turned the lever once more and he
yelped.

I looked at his body that seemed to become somehow longer - stretched
and narrow, with his rib-cage looking like a dome and his abdomen
incredibly hollow. He was panting. I could see the thin film of
perspiration appearing on his very pale skin. When I met his eyes there
was a real fear in them. Real, I mean. I know how it looks like.

He followed my hand with his gaze when I reached for the lever once
more.

"No… Don't…"

I turned again, he screamed and then choked. You can't virtually scream
when you are stretched this much. For a moment his head fell down - then
he tossed it back and I saw his throat trembling in torment. I stooped
for my bag and took out a bunch of pins.

Sometimes when one of those whom I was doing on the rack screamed too
much or cursed or behaved with especial indignity I was ordered to gag
him. But with Mary Beth, I guessed, it was not this kind of case. We
were going to get his every cry or moan or gasp - so far, at least.

Even in the searing pain of stretching he still noticed what I had in my
hand and his mouth quivered desperately. Maybe, he was going to plead -
or, maybe, he already started understanding it was completely useless. I
took his left nipple between my thumb and forefinger and tweaked it
slightly. My, it was not easy! With his tits being so tiny naturally and
because his skin was so taut now I could hardly do it. I saw I was
leaving the dark spots with my fingers around the golden-brown tender
circle. I worked it up a little, sensing how my Mary Beth held his
breath in - and that's when I drove the pin right through it.

You see, these were not just clothespins. I have three sets of them -
2", 3" and 4"-long, thicker than usual pins and not too sharp. I mean, I
blunted them on purpose, so that it took some strength from me to stick
them.

The little whore's shriek was short and heart-breaking. I took another
pin from my mouth - I hold them like that - the ones I need now - like a
tailor - and pushed it through the same nipple, only not downwards but
obliquely. There was no much blood - just very minute trickles from
where the points were coming out. I put two more pins in this tit and
four of them in his other one.

Oh dear if you think there can't be pain like this you are wrong.

He was giving a nice cry for every pin coming through his flesh - and as
I did it slowly he had enough time to get breath for making sounds. His
skin became slippery with sweat - and his face was wet - but with tears.
The pretty prostitute was weeping with pain.

When I stuck the 4"-long pin through his left ball he went limp. Not
really unconscious because his lashes were still trembling - but kind of
slack, as if his bones and muscles became dead. I cupped his balls -
with the ugly pin piercing one of them - nice warm things, with the very
wispy curly hairs on them. I didn't squeeze. I just held them for a
little while. Then I put in another pin and Mary Beth was with us again,
in his fearful misery.

I stuck ten pins into his balls and the same amount of 3"-long ones
through his cock, all over from the head to the base, careful not to
pierce his urethra - you'll see soon why. By this time his shrieks
became much less loud, reminding harsh moans instead. When I finished
with his penis and straightened I saw his face. It looked like a mask -
so pale that it seemed yellowish, glistening with sweat and tears - not
a pretty face. The tiny trickles of blood from the pin-holes on his
chest and genitals streamed together and now the first drops of blood
splashed on the tile floor under the rack.

I stepped back to let the watchers review what I had done. I didn't look
at them. But I heard them - shifting, relaxing, perhaps starting
bringing pleasure to themselves. I heard Mary Beth's breathing, too -
even though he was almost unable to make any great noise by now his sobs
were very audible, harrowing.

To be continued